


So Let Us Forget Our Fears Tonight

by Talvenhenki



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Leprat is from the cardinal's blades but I just love to add him to my musketeers works hahah, Post-Savoy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talvenhenki/pseuds/Talvenhenki
Summary: Porthos had heard of the man, sure, but hadn't actually met him, much less talked to him, before Leprat had to ride off to Orléans. For some reason unknown to him, Porthos offered to help take care of the sole survivor of Savoy while Leprat was gone.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	So Let Us Forget Our Fears Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am not dead! I've written another Savoy fic to celebrate being alive and because I need to get myself to write something. So, you guys get a treat before I possibly fall into the hole known as Star Trek Picard and the wonderful ship of Agnebal!

It took Porthos some time to notice the man. He’d heard about the massacre, of course; he’d attended the funerals of all those unknown men who were laid to rest beside Roland. He’d been a friend of Porthos’ – one of the few – and the massacre had claimed him. Porthos wondered if he would have any other friends in the musketeers since most of them seemed to hate him for his background. Roland had not cared about where Porthos had come from; to him the only thing that mattered were Porthos’ friendship and who he used his fists on.

Only one had survived the massacre.

His name was Aramis, if Porthos remembered correctly. He would only accompany Antoine Leprat if they were outside – which, in hindsight, was probably good. The man seemed fragile enough to be knocked out by a soft wind alone. He was pale as a ghost and his eyes seemed to dart from one direction to the next faster than a spooked bird would have taken flight.

He was broken in ways Porthos couldn’t even begin to understand. He felt bad for the man but didn’t give too much thought to him, considering they’d never even talked. He was just another broken soldier trapped in his memories.

That was, until one morning Leprat marched into the stables, fuming with rage.

“He cannot do this”, he mumbled to himself. “He can’t make me leave now of all times. How dare he?”

Porthos wasn’t sure if he should ask Leprat what was going on. He didn’t want to involve himself too much, seeing as Leprat was looking after Aramis and Porthos wasn’t sure he wanted to get close to the haunted man. He didn’t have to ask, however, as someone else beat him to it.

“Treville is making me go on a mission”, Leprat explained, his expression sullen. “I have to ride to Orléans and take care of some issues there. It will take me at least three days! I don’t think Aramis will be able to handle it alone.”

“I hate to say it but isn’t he kind of a lost cause already?” asked Pierre, the musketeer that had asked Leprat about his rage. “It’s kind of you to take care of him but he’s just too far gone in my opinion. At best he’ll be another Serge, at worst, he’ll end up a beggar and dying in the gutter.”

Anger flared up in Porthos’ chest. Was that what the other musketeers really thought about Aramis? It wasn’t _his_ fault that the massacre had broken his mind. There was still a possibility that he would heal, given that he’d get the comfort he needed and the acknowledgment of what happened.

“You don’t get to say that”, Leprat hissed. “You weren’t there to collect the bodies; you have no idea what he went through!”

“But he can’t even work!” Pierre protested, “what good is he for the regiment if he won’t work?”

“What good are you for the regiment if you can’t even believe in your comrades?” Porthos retorted. Both Pierre and Leprat turned to look at him with shock on their faces. “You don’t get to say what an injured man should or should not do. It’s not _his_ fault he was broken because of the massacre!”

Before the two men could say anything, Porthos had walked outside. It was odd, how angry he felt. He didn’t even know Aramis – not really – but he felt like he had to defend the man. It was an instinct, the way he had spoken up. Maybe he just wanted to show the world he could be better, be kinder this time.

“Thank you.”

Porthos turned around and realised Leprat had followed him. He looked exhausted, but also relieved. There was sincere gratitude written in his eyes – the _thank you_ must have come from the heart.

“They don’t believe in him anymore”, Leprat mumbled, “they just think he’s here to slow ups. They don’t believe that he can heal. But I know he can; he just needs some more time and someone who believes in him and shows him kindness. I’d already started losing hope that anyone would ever believe in him anymore. So, thank you for your words.”

Porthos nodded. It was clear that Leprat was exhausted from taking care of his friend who no one believed in anymore. He felt bad for the men who were being alienated by the rest of the regiment.

It wasn’t right at all.

“You know, I could keep him company while you’re away.”

Porthos kicked himself inwardly. Why had he said that? He didn’t even know Aramis, and he sure as hell didn’t know what he needed while Leprat was away. Had Leprat taken him some food? Had he talked with Aramis? Was Porthos supposed to sleep in the same room as the man who wouldn’t even come out of his room?

“Would you really be so kind?” Leprat asked.

The exhaustion on his face was entirely too much. Porthos nodded.

“He doesn’t require much”, Leprat said, “just some company. He probably won’t answer, not on the first day anyway. Just speak to him, ask how he is, and bring him some food. He also might have nightmares, but you don’t have to stay with him through them if you don’t feel comfortable; he can mostly handle them. Come, you should meet him before I leave.”

Leprat led Porthos upstairs to the hallway where Porthos’ room was. To Porthos’ surprise, he’d been living in the room next to the broken man’s all that time. He’d been recruited right before the massacre, two weeks or so, and given a room with Roland who had had a room all to himself. Normally the musketeers shared rooms but after the massacre there had been so many empty ones. Simply too many lives had been claimed by the forest.

All those claimed lives now weighed on one man’s soul.

“Aramis?” Leprat called as he opened the door. “Are you awake? There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

The man on the bed sat up slowly. He blinked owlishly at Leprat and then directed his deep brown eyes to Porthos. Those eyes, Porthos would later realise, were deep enough to swallow a man’s soul whole. The man reached out his arms, as if to invite Porthos to come closer.

“Go on”, Leprat said and pushed Porthos forward, “this is his new way of greeting people.”

Porthos moved in front of Aramis and let him take his hand. Aramis studied the hand, drawing patterns on Porthos’ skin with his finger. Closing his eyes, he exhaled softly and squeezed Porthos’ fingers.

“This is Porthos”, Leprat told, “he’ll be keeping you company for a few days. I have to ride to Orléans and stay there for a few days. Will you be alright without me for a few days?”

Aramis nodded and let go of Porthos’ hand. “Antoine”, he whispered, “come back?”

Leprat knelt on one knee in front of Aramis and grabbed Aramis’ hands. “I promise”, he said, squeezing Aramis’ fingers, “I will come back. Give me five days at most and I’ll be here again. I will not leave you.”

Aramis nodded and hugged Leprat. Only then did Porthos realise how thin his arms were; he had clearly not been eating enough since the massacre. Or did he throw up everything he ate? Porthos truly was worried for the man.

After leaving the room, Leprat turned to face Porthos. They were back in the courtyard, far enough that Aramis couldn’t hear them taking. Maybe what Leprat wanted to say wasn’t for Aramis’ ears.

“Whatever you do”, he said, “do not ask him about the empty bed or Marsac. Marsac deserted after the massacre, leaving Aramis with the bodies. He can’t handle the memory; every time I’ve tried to ask him, he just shuts off.”

“Got it”, Porthos said, “no mention of Marsac.”

Leprat nodded and left. Soon enough he was already riding away to Orléans, leaving Porthos to wonder what he’d actually promised to do. He didn’t even know how to take care of someone who was being weighed by so many deaths around him.

* * *

A scream pierced Porthos’ dream. He jumped up, recognising the voice as Aramis’, and ran to the neighbouring room to find out why the man was screaming. As Porthos entered the room, he saw Aramis tossing and turning on his bed, no doubt imprisoned by a nightmare.

The moment Porthos touched Aramis’ arm, the screaming man’s eyes flew open. The scream died in his throat as his eyes locked with Porthos. Aramis was gasping for breath as his hand found Porthos’ arm and gripped it tight.

“Antoine”, Aramis gasped, “where is he? Where is Antoine?”

Aramis pushed himself up with strength that Porthos hadn’t anticipated. Porthos almost fell over when Aramis jumped to his feet and looked around, breathing harshly. He was looking around the room and his body shook all over.

“Antoine?” Aramis asked. “Antoine, where are you? Antoine? No, no, no…”

Aramis fell to his knees. His hands shook as he buried them in his messy curls.

“The snow claimed him”, Aramis whispered, “he’s gone. The snow’s claimed Antoine too.”

The sight made Porthos’ throat constrict. True, he had seen people like that in the Court, but they’d been people who’d been poor their whole lives, people who were the scum of Paris. Aramis was a soldier, someone respected by the citizens, rendered so helpless by a nightly horror only he had survived to tell about.

“Come now, Aramis, you should sleep”, Porthos said. He helped Aramis to stand up and led him back to his bed. Aramis trembled violently and his teeth clattered – was he cold? Porthos picked Aramis’ cloak up and wrapped it around his shoulders to keep him warm. Aramis lay down on the bed with Porthos’ help and curled up on his side like a small child who was scared of the dark

When Porthos was about to leave, Aramis grabbed his wrist. “Stay”, he whispered, “please. Don’t want to be alone.”

Porthos hesitated for a moment, but eventually he lay down next to Aramis. At first, he felt a little uncomfortable – he was sharing the bed with a person he didn’t really know – but soon enough he relaxed and turned on his side, resting his arm on Aramis’ waist.

“Better?” Porthos asked. Aramis nodded and curled up a little bit tighter.

Like that, they managed to sleep the rest of the night without any disruptions.

* * *

The second night was much the same, except that Porthos was already sleeping in the same room. He had claimed the empty bed Leprat had warned him about and, much to his surprise, Aramis hadn’t protested. He had actually seemed somewhat grateful for the company – apparently the night-time was when he felt the most vulnerable.

He did have a nightmare that night too, but he didn’t cry out for Antoine that time. He cried out other names. Most of them were unknown to Porthos – he hadn’t known the musketeers who had trained at Savoy – but he recognised two of them. Roland and Marsac. Porthos couldn’t believe – didn’t _want_ to believe – that Aramis would still call out for the man who had left him alone with the dead bodies, probably to die.

“Hey, it’s alright”, Porthos whispered, kneeling next to Aramis’ bed, holding one of Aramis’ hands. Aramis’ eyes flew open and locked with Porthos’. It took him only a few seconds to recognise Porthos, and to press Porthos’ hand against his cheek.

“I’m safe”, Aramis mumbled, cradling Porthos’ hand. “You’re here…it’s safe.”

Aramis kept repeating his words like a mantra while Porthos lay down next to him, wrapping his arms around Aramis to protect him from the nightly horrors. Aramis grabbed his arms tightly and wouldn’t let go even once for the entire night. It seemed like he really needed the support Porthos provided him.

During the days, Aramis wouldn’t do much. He still wasn’t strong enough to leave his room for long, and Treville had forbidden physical training for him. He ate very little, saying that all food tasted the same to him anyway.

Porthos couldn’t help but think he wanted to save the man.

The third night, though, that was a night Porthos would never forget. It wasn’t because of the screams, although they were louder and more desperate, and it wasn’t the way Aramis looked at Porthos, although it looked as if he was pleading for Porthos to take him away, to take him somewhere safe.

In the end, it was Aramis’ words, that burnt the night into Porthos’ memory.

“They’re gone, they’re all gone”, Aramis whispered, having fallen onto his knees once more. “They’ve all left me alone.”

Porthos was kneeling in front of Aramis, rubbing his arms to calm him down. The poor man was in hysterics, not fully with Porthos as the nightmare still held onto his mind. It seemed to Porthos that Aramis was unable to calm down.

“What good am I if I just lead people to their deaths?” Aramis muttered, his voice shaking. “I just make people miserable. They always either die or leave me; nothing good happens to people around me.” He looked up, facing Porthos, and his eyes were full of sadness. “You’re not safe around me. You should leave before you get too attached. I’ll just make you miserable.”

Porthos shook his head and pulled Aramis into a hug. “I won’t leave you”, he said, “I’m already too attached to leave you. I want to help you. I want to show the others that you’re stronger than they believe. I believe in you and I know you don’t bring misfortune to people’s lives.”

Aramis sniffled against Porthos’ shoulder. “You’re wrong”, Aramis mumbled, “I’ve never, not even once, managed to bring happiness into someone’s life. I’ve only brought them death and grief.”

Porthos sighed and pulled Aramis even closer. He buried one of his hands in Aramis’ wild curls and massaged his scalp to calm him. Instead of calming Aramis down, the gesture had the opposite effect: it made Aramis cry. He sobbed hysterically against Porthos’ shoulder and gripped his shirt so tight that Porthos could hear the seams tearing apart.

“Don’t leave me”, Aramis whispered between his sobs, “please, Porthos. Don’t you leave me as well; I don’t want to lose you.”

“I won’t”, Porthos said, and cradled Aramis’ face between his hands. It was a mess of tears that had fallen all the way down to Aramis’ beard. “I believe in you, Aramis. I will stay at your side until the end, whatever end we might face.”

Aramis nodded and Porthos kissed his forehead. He hugged Aramis again and helped him up so they could get back to bed. Without even thinking, Porthos lay down next to Aramis, earning a melancholy smile from him.

“I didn’t have to ask this time”, Aramis whispered. Porthos smiled and brushed some strands of hair behind Aramis’ ear.

“I wasn’t going to start breaking my promise as soon as I made it”, Porthos said and kissed Aramis’ forehead again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments warm my soul!!


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